


The Definition of Insanity

by IraBragi



Series: Building Home [12]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adventures in bat parenting, Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Bruce Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, bat dad, raising robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IraBragi/pseuds/IraBragi





	The Definition of Insanity

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  Also raising children, especially my children… Really... why do I do this again?” - Attributed to Bruce Wayne after a particularly contentious contest-of-wills with one of his children

\----------------------------

Dick was the easiest of his children to raise.  Not that he had appreciated it at the time - oh no, Bruce had spent most of the first few years raising Dick swinging between extreme terror that he was irreparably damaging the boy and complete confusion as to how anyone survived raising a child.  

Richard Grayson could talk the hind leg off a mule.  At least that was how Martha Kent described him when she met him for the first time.  (She also fed him copious quantities of pie, helped him sew a new Robin outfit, and sent him home hyperactive from sugar and full of ideas for adding pockets to _everything_. Traitor.)

At age twelve he combined his natural ability to argue with a an unfortunate school project on history of filibusters in the U.S. Congress and staged a fourteen hour barrage of words protesting Bruce's refusal to let him spend the summer doing… well the details are rather fuzzy (Alfred assured Bruce that this is an involuntary psychological coping mechanism and offered tea with only slight sarcasm)... in any case Dick got his way.  Then got homesick and sent postcards every other day.

\----------------------------------

Jason Todd didn’t argue as much.  At first Bruce was naive enough to think that this was a _good_ thing.  It took less than a month for him to understand that this was _absolutely not_ a good thing.  Where Dick would talk at you until you had almost forgotten why he was in trouble in the first place Jason would listen to you calmly then continued doing exactly what he was planning to do to begin with.  

(Which isn’t to say that the boy didn’t talk back or get into a good screaming match now and again; the first time Bruce had laid down the law about not running into villain's lairs sans backup and grounded Jason was an education in exactly how many permutations of “fuck you” could be spewed in his direction in the space of one minute flat.  It was a high number, a _creatively_ high one.)

All things considered though, the real issue with Jason was that you just couldn’t out-nuclear him.  The last time that Bruce had tried to ground Jason, the boy was nearly sixteen. The argument centered on the exact definition of “excessive force” as well as Jason’s habit of smoking in the batcave.  After a solid hour of increasing volume and Bruce hissing “language!” what felt like a million times, his last straw snapped and Bruce roared that Jason was “confined to his room until he learned some manners or died of old age whichever came last!”

He then proceeded to march the suddenly much more subdued teen upstairs and informed him that the consequences of coming out of the door or window without a darn good reason would be dire.  The mistake that he made was misattributing the sudden quiet on Jason’s part as being intimidated. By then Bruce knew to check a grounded child’s room for anything that was likely to aid a bored and angry child in causing mayhem but, even with his years of experience, it never occurred to him to check for C4 and det cord.

Fifteen minutes later there was a ear shattering boom and the whole house shook.  A few panicked seconds later Bruce was standing outside the manor looking at the side of his house.  Right in the center of the wall, one story up, was a neat 5x4 foot hole. It was just sitting there, looking for all the world like a doorway.  Then, while Bruce was still trying to work his brain around what had happened, Jason swung down from the hole, jumped to the trellis, execute a perfect tuck-and-roll, and landed next to Bruce.

“Used a bit too much C4, could have made that neater.  Anyway, I’m going on patrol.”

It takes a lot to render Bruce speechless, but Jason won that round.  

(It was Alfred who sat Jason down afterward, and whatever he said was effective enough that Jason actually apologise and helped the contractor fix the structural damage.)  Later, during the long nights that Bruce spent in the cave staring at a bloodstained uniform, he would bitterly regret the irony of it all.

\-----------------------------------------

Tim didn’t talk as much as Dick, but gosh darn it, that boy _argued to win._ The first year or so, Tim actually didn't get into any serious trouble.  A few disagreements here and there but nothing that couldn’t be resolved.  But Tim was still a teenager and as Bruce started training him in more advanced crime fighting operations (and spent less time doing his best to block out the last two years with whiskey) conflict was bound to arise.

The first time he grounded Tim it was for an impressive but _totally unauthorized_ bit of hacking that involved staying up for 78 hours straight, breaching the DMV, NHS, and a local dentist’s medical files, then slurring something about “ _the greys”_ and “ _they know”_ when asked to explain himself.  Bruce ended up carrying the boy up to bed and watching him sleep for an hour, praying to whatever higher power may or may not exist to please - _please_ \- don’t let him fail again, let him protect his family.

The next morning he had an early meeting at Wayne Enterprises and by the time he was done with that (and the million other problems that popped up before he had even gotten to his desk) he had totally forgotten about grounding Tim.

Three days later he stormed up to Tim’s room ready to have strong words with the teen on responsibility and being late for patrol only to be met with an utterly blanke look.

“You grounded me.”

“No I… what?”

“You. Grounded. Me.”  Tim was looking at him like he was a total idiot.

“Oh, um, well… I suppose you have learned your lesson, I need you on patrol.”

“No.”

“No?”  A child refusing to be ungrounded?  This was new.

“You said that I showed, quote “a reckless misuse of power, unfounded paranoia, and showed a severe lack of judgment that shook your faith in my abilities.”

Oh.  Bruce was simultaneously impressed that Tim had processed anything in the sleep deprived state he had been in at the time of the argument and somewhat regretting his harsh words.

“So I’ve gathered the proof to show you that I am right.”

Oh.  Ok, that sounded more normal.

The next hour was spent alternating between being genuinely impressed with Tim’s talent for research and increasingly panicked at the list of agencies that now had reason to come after them. (Bruce could deal with the FBI, CIA, and NSA, but the NBWA (National Bird Watching Association) was not a group to trifle with, and the Corn Growers Association already had a grudge against him.)  

At the end of the presentation Tim sat on the edge of his bed looking smug while Bruce started making called to various Justice League colleagues.  30 hours after that a full scale alien invasion was prevented before the portal could be opened.

The next day Bruce got Tim the _really_ good coffey and informed him that if he failed to let someone know _before_ he hacked anything again his coffey allowance would disappear.

It worked for about a week.

\---------------------

If raising each of his other wards had been like trying to a new sport each time (similar games but different technical skills needed) raising Damian was like trying to parachute out of a suborbital aircraft, in a hurricane, with your hair on fire.

With Dick you could count on hearing exactly what his opinion of something was (at least twice.)  Jason was bull headed and kept his own counsel but you could trust that he would do exactly what he thought was needed.  The trick was to want the same thing as he was going to do anyway. Tim, of all the children, was most likely to actually communicate.  As least as long as he wasn’t feeling insecure about his place in the family and as a Robin. After his third patrol as Robin, Damian attacked Bruce.

There had been a rash of abductions, that Bruce had traced back to a gang, who lead to a smuggler, who had ties to human trafficking.  They found a warehouse. The window was far too small for six foot two of hulking Bat to fit through, but a slim child had no problem turning off his comms and sliding through.

Bruce held it together while he searched for a door then tore it off its hinges.  He gritted his teeth and fought the goons who were guarding the prisoners. He stepped back and watched in surprise while Damian showed a soft side that Bruce didn’t know he possessed and convinced one of the scared children to tell them where the rest of the people were being held.  He even sounded fairly calm when he gave commissioner Gordon the rundown on what happened. And then when they got back to the batmobile he _exploded_.

“You’re grounded.  No, you’re fired. You could have died.  Never turn off your comms again, do you understand me?  What made you think that was a good idea? You aren’t with your mother anymore, you obey me in the field.”

“Tt.  I solved the problem.”  It might have been easier if he argued back.  At least then they could have yelled at each other until the adrenalin faded. Instead Damian had the gall to look dismissive then turned to walk away.  Fully intending to keep shouting until the seriousness of the situation hit home, Bruce reached to grab him by the shoulder only to grasp air then a sharp pain in his wrist.

Bruce sparred with all the boys and he’d had an unfortunate number of instances where a robin was drugged or otherwise compromised that devolved into physical force, but he’d never struck one of his children in anger.  This wasn’t sparing.

It didn’t last long.  No matter how well trained he was, Damian was still a child and Bruce had two feet and a hundred pounds of muscle on him.  Bruce got him in a headlock and held him till Damian gave up trying to break the hold.

“What in god’s name was that?”  Bruce was fairly certain that his wrist was at least sprained, if not broken.

“You were angry, I showed that I am useful.”  That’s when it clicked. Damian wasn’t afraid.  Not of putting himself in jeopardy in the field, not of Bruce’s anger, not of attacking someone twice his size.  He wasn’t afraid because somewhere along the line he had decided (or someone had taught him) that he had no one but himself to rely on.  Fear didn’t matter because no matter how afraid you were you still had to survive. Oh.

“Damian I think we are both tired.  Let’s go to bed and try to sort this out in the morning, alright?”  The boy didn’t respond but later that night when he passed Damian’s bedroom he heard faint music pouring out of the speakers.  It was an old song, one that Taila used to sing. Bruce sighed and wondered, for the millionth time, how Alfred had survive raising him.  He had no idea how to get through to the angry child but he promised himself that at least he would do his best to show Damian that he didn't have to always face the world alone.

He also had the sinking feeling that grounding this child was going to be about as effective as it had been for the first three.  Bruce shuddered and made a mental note to check Damian’s room for anything even remotely flammable, combustible, or explosive.

\---------------------------

“No.  It’s dangerous, ineffective, and stupid.”

“It presents an acceptable level of risk.”

“And I say that it doesn't.”

“I could take it from you.  Your form is nowhere near sufficient to impede my progress.”

“Yes I know.  You still can’t have the laser back.”

“If you don’t give it back I’ll take it from you with force.”

“Ok.”

“It will hurt.”

“No it won’t because you won’t do it.”

Aaron and Damian seemed to be having an argument in the workshop.  Well argument was the wrong word. Damian was standing next to a contraption that, as far as Bruce could tell, involved a skateboard, some electric bits, a lot of welded pipes and (Bruce almost had a heart attack when he recognized) a military grade defence laser that _should be_ locked in the vault at Wayne Enterprises.  Aaron was holding the laser’s firing switch and sounding eerily calm for someone who had just been threatened by a trained vigilante hell bent on destruction.   

“No one will die.”  Damian was _pouting_.  Usually the teen just did what he wanted regardless of repercussions.  Hearing someone derail him without even raising their voice was a novel experience.  For one brief second Bruce felt a swell of hope that maybe he had an allie in the “trying to keep Damian from killing himself and everyone in the general vicinity every time he got bored” mission.

“Besides if you give back the laser I know where Jason still has some C4 in his old bedroom.”

Oh.  Bruce felt the hope wither in his chest.  Maybe he could find a good retirement home in Antarctica...


End file.
